Have Fog, Will Ride

Another morning greeted by fog which, for me, is near the pinnacle of riding environments. While not the most dramatic fog day it was still enough to push me on a more circuitous route to work.

Most riding textbooks I've read counsel riders to leave the bike at home when it's foggy with similar advice for night, rain, snow and other visibility limited situations.  Those situations definitely have heightened risk but can be managed with training, preparation and a riding mind attuned to the dangers.

Acquiring those skills is the challenge.

Reading about a crash on ModernVespa.com two comments stood out that shine a light on the possible outcomes of learning to ride in less than ideal conditions.

"...congrats on the healthy crash. crashing safely is the best thing you can do to become a better rider..."

and

"Wish it wasn't so, but experience really is the best teacher. Glad she is ok."

The comments relate to a new rider making a mistake on a wet road.  Easy to do especially if you think riding on wet roads is pretty much the same as dry ones.  You can get away with that thinking in a car but on two wheels not so much.

Anyways, I've been thinking about how differently I ride in different conditions including fog.  And try to keep the risk fresh.  Two of the most anxiety provoking rides I've ever made were in fog.

The ride to work today was uneventful — at least I can't remember anything happening of note.  Just a relaxed ride through the countryside slowly giving way to autumn.  Before long we'll be seeing snow flakes in the air...

The Doe

She raced into the right side of my peripheral vision, entering the plume of light cast by the headlight on a dark road, body churning, straining alongside the scooter. Breathing halted with a fierce intake of air, the animal moved closer as I realized my right hand had already begun throttling back, slowing the Vespa on the wet road.

It was a long day at work, one of those days when the mind leaps from one task to another, switching gears, changing realities so often that you just end feeling numb, stupid, living in a mental fog over which there seems no control. The desire to get on the scooter at 9pm was strong.

Rain fell in big, lazy drops, streaking the blackness ahead with white streaks in the beam of light. New heated gloves felt hot, a stark contrast from the cold wet air rushing under my helmet. Gingerly applying pressure to the rear brake,  the doe lunged left in front of me, her eyes wide as she fought to gain speed. For just an instant everything seemed like it moved in a slow motion performance.

I’ve been here before, riding at night in the rain ready to meet the deer of which the bright yellow signs give warning. A hundred times I’ve convinced myself that I’d be ready to manage the moment.

The Vespa slowed without sliding, the machine straight, tires rolling as the rear hooves lingered in the air then disappeared into the blackness. Breath quickly fogged the inside of the visor as I considered chance, luck, and fortune against experience and skill. A mile down the road I believed in magic and the sudden appearances of ghosts and other visitors, the knowledge quickening my excitement to be riding. Riding on my mind was clear, sharp and a strange feeling of satisfaction remained, as if I was tested and passed. Or perhaps it was nothing more than understanding that there is no test – just life.

How to Get Your Head Around Cold Weather Riding

How often do you stop along the road to look.  To see.   I ride a lot but I look a lot too.  The fog hanging over the hills, the color of the leaves in the early morning light, the puddles of water that glow at my feet. It's quiet and I'm the only one stirring.

There's too much to see (and photograph) and experience for me to stop riding when it gets cold.  While many, if not most, riders hand up their jacket when the thermometer dips below 60F, or worse, because the calendar page turns to September and a programmed response occurs to drain fuel and get out the Battery Tender.  With a little work a rider can question all the missives about motorcycles and cold weather and perhaps find new magic a cold day.

Let's get the most important point out of the way first -- with cold weather riding comes more risk.  Risk of falling due to loss of traction for all kinds of reasons, risk of bad decision making due to being cold, and generally a risk related to applying all those warm weather skills and habits to an environment that is genuinely different.

All of these things can be managed IF you accept them.  And take steps to deal with them. 

This past Sunday morning was the first cold day of the riding season for me when I rolled out of bed and saw the temperature was 31F.  As much as I ride in cold weather you would think this is all automatic, that I would have a pilot checklist in my head, or better yet on paper.  But I don't. 

I'm not an organized man.  Yet.

While Junior is munching his Purina Pro Plan I'm thinking about riding gear, whether I need the electric gloves for the short ride I plan, time for the ski mask yet.  In general I'm trying to remember what 31F feels like.

By the time I'm on the road the temperature indicator on the Vespa says 33F.  I don't know how accurate it is but I do know from experience that the temperature changes drastically in the area as cold air flows in rivers from the mountains down through the valleys.  You can feel it change as the air flows through your helmet or seeps inside your riding gear to touch unprotected skin.  On mornings like this you have to accept the possibility of ice and adjust your attitude and riding style accordingly.

If you have only one riding style, or if you don't understand why the possibility of ice requires an adjustment, or if you are adherent to the "I ride the way I want and let the world stay out of my way" style of riding, well perhaps you shouldn't rush right out in cold weather.  Not until you have some time to re-evaluate things a bit.

There is a lot of water flowing around this part of Pennsylvania and in many instances it flows across the road creating hazards for cars and nightmares for motorcycle and scooter riders.  The Commonwealth does a good job with signs for a lot of known occurrences of water on the road but they can't sign them all.  That leaves each of us with some decisions -- park the bike for the duration, or learn how to manage this stuff.  And assume the heightened risk that you may miss something and you will need to know how to respond to the sudden appearance of ice on the road.

I simple terms it means slowing down, particularly on curves so that you have enough time to stop within you visual range of sight.  Most riders don't know how slow this actually is on little country roads.  I only lean hard when I can see a long way off when the temperature is near or below freezing. 

And you have to remember that even on absolutely dry roads the low temperature affects your tires and the amount of friction available to keep the machine tracking along nicely.  Straight lines aren't much of a problem unless you need to stop fast and you find out your summer stopping distance computer between your ears doesn't apply to these new circumstances. 

And if you are under dressed, teeth chattering, hands numb, and the response time from seeing a hazard, convincing your body to move, and then actually executing a maneuver has diminished, well, that's not a good thing either.

All of these things can be managed.  Takes some thought, some humility, and ultimately desire.  And desire is the fuel that keeps me going. 

I keep riding because I love the experience, the sights, the places that appear on the road.  My Sunday morning trip into town is long enough for me to get lost in the magic of the ride -- present, aware, mindful.  Almost a spiritual place.

Stopping on another gravel road to watch the sun rising over the fields and being happy to be alive and walking on the earth.  It's a simple feeling but one that isn't easily gained.

Every rider is different but I particularly relish the transition from cold to warmth, in this instance a cup of hot cocoa in a warm cafe.  I'm not sure why but when I repeat this simple trip in a car I don't stop, don't see much, and just wolf down the cocoa.  If I even stop to have it. 

There's no magic in a car ride.

As my hands start to warm and I'm sitting at the table staring at a bagel it seems special.  Special enough to make a photograph and important enough to share here.
 

There are a lot of cold days where the road is dry save for those places where it isn't.  It's worth it for me to learn how to deal with the cold and keep riding.  On some days it takes work for me to get my head around it all but when I do I am pleased with the results.

It's won't be too much longer until I put the winter tires on the Vespa.

Riding a Vespa in the Rain

Ride long enough and you’ll eventually find yourself on the road, drenched and dreaming of home. Ride longer and you may find yourself dreaming of being drenched. This morning I rode away from the dry comfort of home into uncertain weather, a welcome break from endless days of sunshine and heat. The gray, dim morning-- a reminder of cooler days ahead.

The forecast predicted scattered showers, at times heavy, for most of the morning. Knowing I would not be riding far I left the raingear in the garage and opted for the more casual comfort of once water resistant riding jacket and pants. And if things really got bad I could breakout the waterproof rain jacket stored in the top case. In six years I have used it twice.

I have a few rules when riding in the rain.

The first is to become one with the road surface so I don’t become one with the road surface in a physical sense.
Every rain is different and so is the character of the pavement. With so little rain in the past couple months there is a lot of stuff on the road that gets slippery when mixed with water. A few stops to walk on the road, test the friction with my boots, I can get a sense of what to expect in terms of traction. It’s not perfect but does provide clues to how to behave.

Another rule is to slow down.
I’ve talked to more than a few riders who search for tires who offer perfect performance on wet pavement, preferring a technological fix for the weather rather than make mindful adjustments themselves. My personal belief is that no tire available will allow you to ride on wet roads like you do on dry ones. You just need to slow down, replace the desire to lean hard and power out of turns with one built around keeping the rubber side down. 

Visibility – my own and my appearance to others.
I’ll stay on the road until the torrents interfere with my ability to see the road ahead. If visibility drops below a hundred yards or so I pull over and wait. And if I feel things are too hectic, or traffic too congested to place myself in a visible position, I’ll pull over and wait for conditions to improve.

The last rule I have is comfort.
I’ll ride wet but not cold. The moment I feel myself begin to focus on my body, the effect the weather is having on me, it’s time to stop and regroup. And I’ll stop as often as I need to. One of the advantages of riding alone—no one’s ego is in play dragging others on beyond their limits.

Anyways, I wasn’t going far. Breakfast was first on the agenda followed by finishing a post titled, Heat, Courage and the Jack Riepe Show. The breakfast part went without a hitch but the writing was delayed.

Superman won out over Riepe. I don’t often see comic books but when I do all bets are off. Someone left a nice one at Café Lemont that I could not pass up. It’s nice to sit with a comic book when a hard rain falls outside.

Just a slight drizzle was falling as I left Lemont on a looping ride around town. A short cut across some of Penn State’s pastureland always provides some amazing views of Mt. Nittany and the valley. Rain and mist make things magical.

 Watching the clouds pass, darkness in the distance, I wonder what brings me out on days that most riders choose to avoid. There was a time when I needed to prove something to myself. But now, I’m looking for something else. Maybe a more intense experience. A friend once suggested I’m a minor adrenaline junkie but my careful, deliberate approach tends to rule that out. Standing here, noticing all the details, I feel alive and on the earth. Maybe it’s as simple as that.

The rain begins to fall hard on the way home. Water is pooled on my lap where the riding jacket forms a basin. Pelting water droplets feel like hundreds of little bee stings on my chest at 45mph. The jacket and pants are soaked through and water is running down my back. When I stop to make this picture I can barely see the LCD screen. Rain soaks the camera and I leave it on when I put it under the seat so the water on the lens barrel doesn’t migrate to the inside.

Almost home I stop for one last picture, a reminder of rain and light and wet rides. The risk and discomfort are far exceeded by the rewards of the ride.

Doubt, Foreboding and the Solitary Adventurer

Yesterday evening I took a little ride around the valley inspecting the landscape after a thunderstorm had rolled through.  Hardly an adventure compared to those souls who venture forth on long journeys lasting days and weeks through unknown places.

A recent post on Shreve Stockton's (author of The Daily Coyote and Honeyrock Dawn) Vespa Vagabond blog discussed the challenges for riders who announce plans for adventures to friends and family and the ensuing resistance, doubt and anxiety it can arouse.  Her post titled An Interview of Sorts answers questions from a woman planning a trip across the United States on her Vespa.  It's worth reading, especially for riders who've not ridden alone or gone on longer trips.

Stockton writes of her own solo cross country journey on her Vespa ET4, details, route planning, Vespa performance and such.  The most interesting part for me was when she described how those plans were received by the people you hope will support you in life.  She touches on fear of the unknown and the perceived danger that lies over the next hill.  Stockton responds to real concerns about personal safety and disaster in the following manner: "As for the true, valid, compassionate concern ~ my answer to this (to others and to myself) is that "the bad things" could happen anywhere."

I think there is some freedom in those words for everyone worried about what might happen if they venture beyond their own backyard.

It's an I wish I could speak from a place of vast experience crisscrossing the country on my Vespa about how I put aside misgivings and apprehensions about venturing forth alone on the road.  Unfortunately such is not the case.  My solitary adventuring has all taken place within a 200 mile radius of home and within a 24 hour period.

Perhaps someday time and circumstance will allow me my own big adventure.

Riding When the Rest of the World Doesn't

A couple weeks ago I stopped on the way to work to put on an extra layer to keep the cold away from my tender flesh. Less than perfect weather does seem like a good reason to stop riding when minor fashion adjustments make flying down the road a pleasure. It must be too much of an adjustment for a lot of riders.

Here I am in Maine. Sustained winds of 25 knots are blowing in off the ocean with gusts up to 38 knots. That’s around 44 mph for non-nautical types. A fresh gale. Rain stings when it hits your face. It’s hard to walk. And you hope nothing comes flying off the beach in your direction.

Just like setting off on the Vespa when the temperature plummets I head out on the beach for a walk to Perkins Cove about a mile away. I have the right gear. There is a fine little café where I can get in out of the weather and have something hot to drink. Arriving in Perkins Cove, wet yet satisfied in the same manner when I return from a winter ride, I find the café closed. Everything is closed and aside from a few storm peepers inside their cars there isn’t a soul outside.

The experience gave me an excellent opportunity to justify and rationalize my riding (and walking) behavior. Standing on a promontory looking out past the waves I remembered sailing through similar weather just 30 miles off shore on my way to Peake’s Island, Maine.

Maybe it’s a good time to re-evaluate risk.

Sons of Anarchy

This post began simmering in my brain after reading a post on 2 Stroke Buzz titled A Minivan for your Testicles. Kim and I have been watching the FX show called Sons of Anarchy -- a soap opera on the drama within and around an outlaw biker gang in California.

There is a special kind of macho surrounding bikers. While I'm not sure how many there are anymore (List of the Top 10 Biker Gangs in the USA) you see a lot of the biker style on the road. And riding a Vespa certainly doesn't fit in that style. And when I saw the picture associated with A Minivan for your Testicles it got me thinking of all the good natured and not so good-natured ribbing I've gotten from other riders about the manliness of a scooter.

The picture below says it all.


The look and style certainly fits with the idea of a minivan. I have my own little minivan. I never realized I had a style.

And I agree, a scooter is just as dangerous as a motorcycle. Woe to those riders in shorts and flip-flops who feel there's no need for a helmet because they're on a scooter. And so I come back to the Sons of Anarchy.

The images and styles reflect on the TV show reflect our collective consciousness of biker gangs. Almost. The producers have carefully put helmets on all the bikers. So the image is a bit watered down though not to the level of the Black Widows in Every Which Way But Loose where Clint Eastwood and his ape are pursued by some bad bikers.

Image is one thing though. The real message is in a rider's actions. And as simple and obvious as this seems to me it doesn't seem to be the driving force behind what makes for a good, macho ride.

I'm sort of pissed to find out that I purchased a minivan without even knowing it. No wonder I get no respect on the road.

Into the Night

Junior knows when we’re on the last walk of the night. He has an uncanny sense of time and often knows what I’m going to do before I do. Standing under a moonlit sky at 1:30am we listen to crickets, cicadas, and katydids perform their summer symphony. He’s thinking biscuit and bed. I’m thinking it a good night for a ride.

The nice thing about being married to an artist is that a middle of the night ride falls within the limits of normal behavior. Kim’s only misgiving is that she can’t come along. If my employer is reading this please note I am on vacation this week.

Night stimulates varied responses among riders. For some (like me) it evokes a time of stillness and reflection. For others, it's a time for terror of deer, drunks, and unfortunate interactions. I remember a book on motorcycle technique that admonished the reader to venture into the night only in an emergency and in dire, personal peril. I believe that. The heightened risk is real and I manage accordingly.

I arrive in town as the bars are closing and people are on the sidewalk making final social decisions. With camera in hand I walk across the street to make a few pictures. Too lazy to retrieve the tripod I sit down against a parking meter and steady the camera against my knees for a half second exposure at a grain generating ISO.

Forgive my photographic indolence.

On campus the pervasive illumination keeps the night at bay and lends a theatrical feeling to the surroundings. Night is somewhere other than here.

Kneeling in the middle of the street behind a little tripod I struggle to make a picture of the Vespa and the moon. I police cruiser glides by watching me work. Law enforcement everywhere knows that photographers using tripods constitute the good guys. I thought he might question my Vespa parked on the sidewalk but he departed in search of more interesting miscreants.

It’s 2:30am as I ride out of town in search of a more suitable landscape to breath in the night. I’m transported into childhood as the scent of Queen Anne’s Lace growing along the road reminds me of playing army in the fields and woods of years ago.

Standing in a field of corn and soybeans the moon illuminates the controls of the camera. Everything is painted in a cool blue gray with deep shadows hiding any real detail. Fireflies and the taillights of an occasional passing car provide the only rich colors.

My interest in making pictures wanes quickly. A few lame attempts to use the flash and I’m done. Dew has formed on my helmet as the temperature drops. I sense a nearby skunk. In the distance a car engine moves over the road coming closer and bringing it’s bright light with it. When the car stops I wonder who’s behind the wheel – someone concerned for the safety of a man in a black and yellow riding jacket standing next to a Vespa? Or is it just someone looking for trouble and sees a scooter as an easy target?

The car slowly moves away and disappears over a hill. I’m left alone looking at the stars and thinking it gets no better than this.

The Demon Within

Kim made this picture of me one evening at the Arboretum at Penn State. I thought it appropriate for this post.

There comes a point where training and experience yield to human nature. Or more pointedly: human failure. The world of the demon that whispers of appropriate action and choice. Viewed later, from the comfort of an armchair with a cup of Earl Grey tea, choices can seem positively stupid. And so we begin.

Perhaps there's no more honest reflection of a person's true character than on the road where masks and facades seem to shed easily. Employers wanting to know who they are hiring should conduct interviews in a car and have applicants drive them on errands through a few frustrating locations to see who emerges.

If asked how I would describe myself as a rider (or driver) I would say calm, relaxed, slow. Arriving at work and parking on a quiet summer campus definitely helps support those feelings and while generally true I have my moments. The demon whispers and I do things that are less than intelligent.

On my way to Barnes and Noble last week on I was reacquainted with weakness. Traveling along on a busy stretch of four lane road I could seen a silver SUV weaving through traffic in my mirror. I wondered why they were in such a hurry. They'll just end up sitting at the next traffic light. I don't remember the demon whispering but I was gauging opportunities to educate the SUV driver. I'm in the left lane on the Vespa slowly approaching a car in the left lane. Traffic is moving around 35mph. The SUV has just moved into the right hand lane in a bid to pass me on and then swing around the car. Not far ahead is a traffic light. As if I am in a chess game I adjust the throttle to move ahead a bit faster. A man in the SUV approaches quickly still hoping to pass me. He's closing on the bumper of the car trying to decide if he can get between the car and the Vespa. There's room but just barely. My fingers have crawled over the brake levers. And just as it seems he's going to try the car's brake lights come on and we're all stopped at the traffic light.

My brain hasn't recognized how stupid or dangerous game I'm playing. I'm teaching now, providing someone else with an opportunity to see the error of his driving ways. Where does this kind of thinking come from? I'm not riding through the woods or stopping to make a picture in a stand of pines. I'm in fantasy world.

The light changes and we're all off. I move a bit faster than the car and when it seems I'll pass the car the SUV swings in behind me. The car keeps accelerating and begins moving ahead. The SUV swings back right hoping to get past everyone as he drives just inches from the car in front of him. The gap widens slowly. I can see his eyes flashing in his side mirror, his brain working to calculate the space needed to pass as the car suddenly slows and I move up ahead. The car speeds up again and I wonder if he is playing this game too. Or maybe he's just suggesting the SUV get off his ass. Or for me to get the hell out of the game.

All this has happened in less than a mile. The SUV is again right on the bumper of the car willing him to speed up. I sense something is about to happen and move left in my lane and roll off the throttle slightly. The SUV explodes left, passes the car, and veers back to the right lane, hits the brakes and immediately turns off the road and into a McDonalds parking lot. I look over and see the driver queue up for the drive up window. He was obviously not the brain surgeon on his way to emergency surgery that I sometimes use to excuse reckless behavior on the road.

Notice it's all about the other guy.

This brings me to my point. The behavior of other drivers is not something for me to fix. They are a changing constant on the road to be managed and nothing else. Education and justice is the realm of others. Nothing anyone does is an excuse for me to listen to the demon. What would I have lost by letting the SUV pass?

One morning on the way to work I stopped to pick up a sandwich for lunch. Standing on the sidewalk I saw my scooter reflected against the Karate Kid poster and it got me thinking about practice and learning. I need to do some further work as a rider.

Thankfully, the event is atypical and not a pattern. But even once is too many. As I grow as a rider I'm learning that the attitude I bring to the road is just as important as the technical skills. For me, dismissing the demon is the place to improve my riding.

Have you conquered the demon?

Swear an Oath

I swear I will turn off my cellphone when I get in the car.

As much as I grumble about others using their cellphones while driving I use mine too -- kidding myself that it's safe because I have it tucked into the visor on speaker phone.

I read an article in the New York Times this evening that was a bit sobering. The article is called Drivers and Legislators Dismiss Cellphone Risk.

Read it. And better yet turn off your cellphone I guess. I know how easy it is to rationalize it being safe or necessary. A real time saving multitasking life extending invention. I've said those things. I don't believe them anymore. So I'll make a change.

I swear.

Revisiting Risk: Thaw Then Freeze

That's what I look like after a mistake in judgment. I look pretty much the same when I make the right choices. I'm careful choosing the days I'll ride. But I do make mistakes.

Impatience to ride and choosing to believe the sunnier of two weather prospects contributed to an error in evaluating the risk of riding this morning. And there was also the fact that I ignored the direct evidence that the driveway that was wet last night was ice this morning. Ignoring that I walked to the road to find dry, salty pavement. In my head I'm repeating the weather forecast, "…near 50 degrees this afternoon…" I'm standing in the road, it's 8 AM and the temperature is 27 degrees Fahrenheit.

On the road I am thinking about breakfast and not the ice. Out of town and into the countryside I begin seeing intermittent ice strips along the road from streams of water that ran during yesterday's thaw. I'm still not processing the data. Instead I point the scooter straight ahead across the ice, these patches that are still narrow. Breakfast in Centre Hall or Bellefonte? Ten miles or fifteen? My stomach is managing the ride.

A 50-foot wide swath of ice. Yesterday is was liquid water but now it is a big stop sign. It's not a little patch of ice. It's not black ice which has more traction to it than this stuff. It's shiny deep ice.

This is how a rider manages shiny ice:

• Pull over and stop
• Look in the mirrors for traffic
• Push up the visor and admire the ice
• Say to yourself "What the f…??"
• Decide not to ride to Centre Hall or Bellefonte for breakfast
• Admire the ice some more
• Sigh
• Begin picking out the least slippery path across the ice
• Cross the ice

Right, cross the ice.

There's an element of machismo in riding. Perhaps less on a Vespa but it's still there. It evaporates crossing ice. Anyone watching knows you're an idiot. Or worse. Feet down pattering around as the scooter moves forward slowly searching for just a tiny bit of traction from a stray piece of gravel. The scooter moves in directions is shouldn't, boots find no purchase. Constant attention to the mirrors for traffic. I am fortunate in my little world that traffic is minimal to non-existent. No one is watching. I don't just look stupid doing this, I am stupid. Poor decision-making back in the driveway.

Over the next two miles I repeat the process a dozen times as each ice hazard seems to become more complex, like a puzzle book or increasing difficulty. My brain is working now to determine an ice-free route. That means a main traffic artery where use and excessive salt will mean less likelihood of ice. A half hour later I am at Barnes and Noble. Not the breakfast I planned but one requiring a reasonable amount of risk.

I sat and wrote this down before I forgot what happened. I like to forget things that don't go my way or illuminate me in a bright, positive light. It's one of the unexpected benefits of blogging -- learning something about how I operate. While I successfully managed the risk on the road I did not do a good job managing the consideration of risk to determine if I would ride. The mistaken application of a weather forecast for later in the day, ignoring the significance of ice in the driveway, and allowing my desire to ride cloud my judgment, all worked together to produce a failure in managing the risks I am willing to take.

I learned some things today. And I did bring home a giant chocolate chip cookie.

Revisiting Risk

Morning Fall
by Edward McGinty

I've been working on a piece related to risk and the potential price of riding. It's the sort of thing that makes family and spouses uncomfortable but bears consideration by anyone who ventures out on two wheels. Denial is not a useful tool in managing risk.

I've reposted the Morning Fall video that I shared over two years ago. It helped me think about risk and consequences and has focused my attention (again) on managing my skills and expectations wisely. If you have not seen it before it is worth watching. And if you have, maybe it will rekindle your own desires to be a better rider.

I should be posting my new risk piece over the weekend.

The Seduction of Riding Through Curves

If the reaper was standing at every curve perhaps fewer riders would find their way off the road or into the path of an oncoming vehicle. At least that's what I was thinking when I saw this reaper around Halloween. On smooth, dry, pavement the tires feel stuck to the road and any maneuver seems possible, reasonable. More experience on two wheels seems to be followed by more throttle and all wrapped up in feelings of perfect skill and perfect lines. I wonder if it is during these moments of perfect thinking that riders find their way towards oblivion? Or maybe it's something much simpler and direct, a patch of gravel or a distracting thought. Whatever it is curves sing a siren song to riders and there isn't a mast to tie yourself to on a scooter or motorcycle.

Skill development works best when you practice. It is important though to have some basic understanding of the nature of the machine and how best to apply some fundamental techniques. I don't know about you but I'm no expert and require ongoing thought and practice to keep my skills at the level necessary to manage risk on the road. And even the things I think I have learned I seem to forget or ignore at times so ongoing reminders are in order. With the Web it is pretty easy to find information and I have found a few pieces that I revisit from time to time. You may know of others.

For me, there is no better source of serious writing on skill development and application than through some of the thoughtful posts on Musings of an Intrepid Commuter by Dan Bateman. Dan is a motorcycle safety instructor with Team Oregon, a national leader in motorcycle safety training, and a fine writer and teacher via his blog. And if you follow for very long you'll realize he is not your average rider.

As I looked at this picture for the past couple weeks I started thinking about riding in curves, training, practice, and all those things it is easy to overlook or check off as "done". And then I thought about Dan's posts that I reread and reread and thought I would share them here for anyone interested in keeping the learning curve moving upwards. If the weather is slowing your time on two wheels it may be the right time to pay Dan a visit!

Riding in Curves
Part One
Part Two

Keeping Your Head Up and Eyes Looking Out While Riding

How Good is Good Enough?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Balance: On the Road and in Life

Looking out over a quiet morning landscape reminds me of the possibility of balance. What it means and what it takes to achieve.

One of the reasons I ride so early in the morning is the world is still a simple place. Returning my father-in-law's Vespa ET4 on a 60 mile ride at dawn swept everything away but the balance of the moment.

Waiting at traffic lights I try to balance the scooter. Feet up at a dead stop I count the seconds before balance evaporates. One, two, three seconds and the Vespa begins to travel towards the pavement. A 350-pound scooter is easy to manage and keep upright. That's probably why I don't see Harley and Goldwing riders playing the same game. This practice has done wonders for my own slow speed balance. Not sure how others practice.

Balance. A simple word with many implications. More than the obvious riding needs to keep the rubber side down. Riding home from work in the ends of a heavy rain called for another form of balance as I worked to manage my position on the road, with other vehicles and water lying randomly in my path. Speed, lane position, my intentions, suspicion of others, everything working together in an intuitive balance that manages risk.

Inputs affecting balance seem endless. When the dance on the road becomes too frenetic an alternative is always available. Stop, slow down, take another route. As long as my brain doesn't interfere with my willingness to depart from a preconceived plan. Stubborn. Stupid.

Sitting this morning in the Boalsburg Griddle having breakfast I was struck by a sign from the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board outlining their attempt to exert balance in the beer consumption arena. You can't walk out with more than 192 ounces of beer. The need to balance is everywhere.

On the road it is a model of simplicity compared to the choices faced everyday in living. At least for me. Choices are more varied, their impact subtle, gray, and uncertain. As are the motives. Little wonder the struggle for balance rages from eyes open in the morning until I drift into oblivion at night. During that time though is the real juice of living.

It's been almost a month since my last post. This one has been in my head simmering and blocking the way. Wrestling with balance at home, at work, it's held my attention. Letting these words finally spill out in my Moleskine journal has brought balance. All is right in my world and the road ahead is now clear...

Rider in the Mirror

Most riders pay close attention to their machines; inspecting, checking, making sure everything is working as it should. But how often do we look in the mirror and make the same critical assessment of our riding expertise?

It’s rare for me to meet a rider who questions their skill or ability. More often I hear stories of feats of speed or disaster averted. Long trips, great rides and recollections of weather, roads and people. Consideration of how good a rider one might be just doesn’t come up. Self-assessment in general is a cloudy and sometimes painful process. A lot of ego is tied up with riding and denial may be easier than honest reflection.

A look in the mirror doesn’t mean much to me unless I have some standard or definition of what it means to be a good rider. One man’s good is another man’s terrible. Looking at myself I see some riding experience – around 17000 miles on a Vespa over the past three years in a wider range of weather and conditions. Two MSF riding classes. And a running pseudo-evaluation of sorts through Scooter in the Sticks. But that’s probably not the level of assessment necessary to really make sure I’m as good as I should be on the road.

I’ve noticed that as time on the scooter increases so does confidence. But that confidence may be unfounded and even dangerous. The once complete feet down stops get replaced by slow rolling stops at an intersection I’ve seen a hundred times. Or riding faster through familiar territory because I know what to expect. The guy in the mirror isn’t too bright. Still, there are things I consider positive.

Dress for the Ride

What does that actually mean? If I pretend to be an outlaw biker does it mean jeans, t-shirt, sunglasses, and boots? And if the need arises for head protection a bandanna neatly tied over the top of my head? Or shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops for a sunny Sunday scooter ride? Both costume choices fit the stylization of some in those riding cultures. I’ve always thought physics trumps culture and make my own choices accordingly. Regardless of your choice of two-wheeled conveyance the physics are the same.

A body falling onto pavement at 45MPH pays the same price whether delivered from a Goldwing or a Vespa. A head meets a curb or tree. A knee or elbow bangs the asphalt. All possible events for any rider. Not inevitable but possible. When I look in the mirror the rider I see always has a yellow and black armored jacket, over the ankle boots, full helmet, gloves, and long pants (and usually armored ones on top of those). Dressed for the possible physics of the ride.

Noticing Stupid Things on the Road

I don’t mean bad spelling on yard sale signs or the price of gas. For me it’s: 1. speeders, 2. tailgaters, and 3. the oblivious driver (usually connected to a cell phone). I always think individuals engaging in those behaviors are just sort of, well, stupid. But what really gets me chuckling is seeing items 1 and 2 performed by a rider. I just don’t have the degree of faith in my fellows on the road to do it and am happy to report the man in the mirror free of those defects.

Strategic vs. Tactical Riding

I’ve always felt there is more to successful riding than good tactical skills – being able to physically manipulate a machine on the road. All that’s important but those skills are like individual puzzle pieces – without them being put together to form a bigger strategic picture they don’t add up to much. Looking in the mirror for a while I realize that I think a lot about the rides I take. Where I am going, the characteristics or the roads I will travel, traffic patterns, road hazards I am aware of and those I could possibly encounter.  Like the dump trucks that zip across the road at the quarry entrance in the picture below. When the weather is bad these considerations are even more intense. Riding may put me “in the moment” but my mind is constantly processing things into a larger picture.

How Do I Get to Carnegie Hall?

Practice, practice, practice. The rider in the mirror practices and experiments and pushes the skills envelop. I still seek out places to practice quick and sudden stops bringing the scooter to a halt right at the edge of skidding. I experiment with balance and slow tight turns. And I test my ability to manage the Vespa on a wide range of dicey surfaces. They keep my mind and body in tune with the machine.

Report Card

The rider in this mirror gets a C. I’m making good progress. I’m doing the things I should be doing to be a safe rider. I’m not trying to bring track skills to the highway or duplicate stunt skills in traffic. I want to continue to learn how to be capable and conscious of the things I can do physically and mentally to reduce risk and enjoy riding.